


Forget and Forgiven

by TheWasAndShouldBeKing



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen, Post-film canon, Slight BlackIce if you squint, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 18:59:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12091356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWasAndShouldBeKing/pseuds/TheWasAndShouldBeKing
Summary: They still didn't know what had caused the amnesia. The collective theory was that he'd been driven beyond the breaking point by Nightmares, though how he'd escaped them even Pitch didn't know. Not when he'd first been found, anyhow.It had been a harrowing awakening. The bare, shadowy trees themselves hadn't been frightening. The setting had been quite serene, and he'd only begun moving because he'd been curious, wondering if he was utterly alone, or if there was anyone else near. But once Jack Frost found him, and then the Guardians began pouring in...





	Forget and Forgiven

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote about a year ago in response to a tumblr prompt that went I have no idea where. The basic idea was the bad guy getting amnesia, being taken in by the good guys, hiding the returning memories, and then finding themselves in a pinch when a new threat rose up to oppose the goodies. It's basically a very short sketch of what could have been a massive, multi-chapter fic, if I wasn't so atrociously bad at finishing those... So, yeah, enjoy! Comments always appreciated. <3

_ 'Meet me at the pond where we found you. It might take me a while to get there, but just... wait for me, okay? It's important. I have to show you something, I... I have to." _

Jack had looked so earnest, asking this of him. Pitch could almost see the boy's heart breaking in his chilly blue eyes, though the resolution in whatever he'd planned remained unshaken.

Pitch had done as asked, keeping to the shadows of the rocks and trees, avoiding the ever watchful eye of the Moon. He shouldn't know better than to do that. They'd not warned him of Manny and his well-meaning observation, but then, none of them were here to see this little slip in Pitch's trusting ignorance.

For that is what the Guardians thought Pitch, at present. A blank slate. An empty mind. It would have been a brilliant trick, if Pitch had thought of it himself, but frankly it had been true, to begin with. Jack had found him wandering the woods outside Burgess, no idea where he was, no idea  _ who _ he was. Pitch had been lucky to remember the English language.

They still didn't know what had caused the amnesia. The collective theory was that he'd been driven beyond the breaking point by Nightmares, though how he'd escaped them even Pitch didn't know. Not when he'd first been found, anyhow. 

It had been a harrowing awakening. The bare, shadowy trees themselves hadn't been frightening. The setting had been quite serene, and he'd only begun moving because he'd been curious, wondering if he was utterly alone, or if there was anyone else near. But once Jack Frost found him, and then the Guardians began pouring in...

The fear and malice had crashed into him like waves, questions and accusations he didn't have answers or defenses for heaped onto him, until the little gold man had hovered up toward his bent and cowering figure, and the boy with the staff had stood between him and the other three, with their weapons drawn and their flinty glares.

Tiny hands had drawn Pitch's hands down from covering his ears, holding gently until he'd opened up his eyes again. The white haired boy had let the feathered woman come forward then, though she'd done so with a stinging reluctance, to look at him. Her bright amethyst eyes had boored into him for a long, hard moment before she'd gasped, and proclaimed what he'd already gathered of himself: he'd lost every memory.

He'd learned his name was Pitch, then. They'd made liberal, angry use of it. He'd gathered that they thought he'd done something awful, and would probably do so again. He had no idea what though, and they'd just looked at him uncomfortably when he asked. 

It hadn't been the most dignified moment. His voice had been desperate, tears welling in his eyes. Terror had gripped him suddenly that they would just leave him to wander for whatever he'd done, alone and confused, without explaining anything. Anger had begun to crawl up his throat at the thought, but then the bearded one had come forward, rested a massive hand upon his shoulder, and told Pitch not to worry on it. That it was in the past now. The feathered woman and the rabbit seemed uneasy about that, but the lanky boy and the little man had smiled as though Christmas had come early.

Speaking of Christmas, they'd put him up at the North Pole. Pitch suspected it was in part to keep an eye on him, make sure his condition wasn't merely temporary. But in spite of the initial reception, it also seemed to be a genuine show of good will. The bearded North, the diminutive Sandy, and the impish Jack Frost had all suddenly become quite keen on spending time with him. 

Bunny seemed utterly uninterested, but the fairy, Tooth showed a cautious sort of curiosity. She turned out to be an extremely busy woman, but she stopped by from time to time for a chat and to have a look at him.

Jack, in particular, liked to visit, almost to the point of pestering. Pitch had suspected himself to be a solitary sort of person, quiet and reserved, if looking in the mirror had been any indication of personality. Jack was obviously far more gregarious, and seemed to take an almost perverse pleasure in roping Pitch into ridiculous activities, like snow ball fights, and pranking the elves and Yeti in the Workshop. Whatever Pitch's initial self-impressions, he enjoyed the attention, and let himself be lead about by Jack's whims.

The two of them had made the discovery that Pitch wasn't half bad at dancing when the amnesiac had another, more startling personal revelation. They'd been mid-Tango when an utterly foreign emotion had washed over Pitch. It had been a cold sort of dread, a deep seated concern for the young man in his arms, as though Jack might be in some sort of danger, but Pitch hadn't sensed or seen any threat. How could there be, here? 

He'd stopped them mid dance to look and be certain, and met the grim blue stare of the massive toymaker, standing off to the side, half hidden by the library bookstacks. The feeling had intensifed as soon as their gaze connected, but Pitch had known instantly that North wasn't the threat. North was _source_ of the fear. He was afraid for Jack. Afraid of... Pitch.

It wasn't really new to Pitch that they worried about him. They still wouldn't talk to him about it though. Their varying degrees of friendship or tolerance seemed to hinge on Pitch remaining in the dark. The old saying usually went 'forgive and forget', but it seemed the reverse in Pitch's case. As long as he'd forgotten whatever he'd done, they'd forgive. He'd begun to dread a day when he might remember.

But every time he'd felt those washes of concern from the others Pitch had thought of it as a normal sort of intuition, reading expression and body language. This had been  _ entirely _ different. Pitch hadn't even known North was there.

Pitch had kept the discovery to himself, and begun to learn all manner of hidden things. 

Most fears held around the Pole were terribly mundane. They consisted of being short on quotas, or rejection by a longtime crush. Some were primal, like fire, or crawling things. But now and then Pitch himself figured in. Some of the Yeti seemed to think he'd come in the night to snatch their young from them.

There was a name, ephemeral on those thoughts, those fears, more sinister than the epithet his hosts allowed him, and Pitch felt it like an icy blade between the ribs.

_ "Who  _ am _ I, North? Why don't you want me to remember?" _

Pitch hadn't gotten an answer out of the old Cossack. Not the one he'd asked for anyway. North had talked him down from knowing, with the gentlest, kindest voice, the saddest eyes, and an embrace the warmth of which had been impossible to argue with. Pitch had felt another strain of fear from the tinker then, similar to the fear for young Jack, but this time felt _for_ _Pitch_. Afraid he'd hurt himself in seeking painful truths.

It had almost been like words,  _ "I'm afraid he'll lose this second chance if he remembers. I'm afraid he'll never be this happy again." _

It was enough to stave off curiosity for quite a long time.

Eventually the fairy even stopped looking so hard at Pitch. In the early days she'd look him straight in the eyes, like she'd done that first night, but as time wore on she began to neglect such vigilance. She'd still swing by the Pole to have a chat with North from time to time, and only checked in to see if Pitch had been using the tooth-whitening paste she kept bringing him. Once or twice she'd brought up the subject of braces, but Jack had flat out laughed at the thought. 

_ "I think they're just stuck like that, Tooth. I mean, can you imagine straight teeth on the- Ow!"  _

Jack had cut short when she'd slugged him right in the bicep. Tooth had a  _ mean _ swing, for such tiny fists. The youth had scowled daggers at her and said instead,  _ "Well, I don't think they're so bad, anyway." _

The rabbit almost never dropped by, unless it was on formal invitation. Pitch had the distinct impression that whatever he may have done in the past, it had come down hardest on Bunny. Right before the first dinner party that was meant to gather all six of them, Jack had taken Pitch aside and warned him to steer clear of two topics: the Blizzard of Sixty-Eight, and the Easter of Twenty-Twelve. 

He wouldn't explain what it meant, but did say the first was for Jack's own sake, and the second was for Pitch. If either came up, it was better not to encourage the conversation. Not that Pitch really knew  _ what _ to talk about. 

When he wasn't being lovingly harassed by Jack, Pitch either lost himself in literature or tinkered with some of North's inventions. Pitch had nearly completed his own clockwork horse that could keep perfect balance as it pranced along, but he wasn't sure how interesting the irascible rabbit would find that.

Whenever their eyes met across the table Pitch could practically hear the Aussie's voice in his head,  _ "He'll ruin Easter again, I just know it." _

It had been during a rare, unexpected visit from Bunny that Pitch had made his second self-discovery.

Pitch had been picking through the library shelves, looking for a new volume of stories. He'd found he quite enjoyed old myths and legends, especially when ghosts and creatures figured in prominently. The voices of Jack and Bunny had risen up out of the quiet, the pair arguing between themselves, and the disputed topic had been Pitch. 

Jack seemed to think it wouldn't be the end of the world any more if Pitch got his memory back. Bunny vehemently disagreed with that, weighing what very much sounded like millennia of villainy against a few decades of blissful ignorance.

Desires warred within Pitch, to flee from things he wasn't meant to overhear, or to remain and discover a little more of the forbidden unknown. Either way, he'd absolutely not wanted to be caught, and as the pair came closer he'd drawn back into the shadows of the nearest shelf, clutching a volume of fairy tales tight to his chest.

Imagine his surprise when, without loosening his grip, the book had dropped straight to the floor. It hit the boards with an almighty thud and immediately drew the attention of the very people he was trying to avoid. Pitch could see them rounding the edge of the bookcase, and wished desperately that he could just sink into the crack beneath the shelf and disappear. To Pitch's further shock and amazement, he did.

Jack retrieved the book from the ground, frowning at it. He'd stuffed it in the front pocket of his hoodie for whatever reason, and said something about elves, before steering the rabbit on so they could continue their argument down the corridor. A couple hours later Jack had tracked Pitch down, solid once more, passed the book off grinning and asked if he'd _"figured out the shadow thing, then."_

Jack had helped Pitch learn, or rather re-learn, how to phase through shadows again. Most of it came to Pitch like instinct, now that he knew he could do it, but it seemed some of the fine control took practice. Jack mentioned seeing a number of tricks that at first Pitch couldn't figure out just off the top of his head. Casting multiple shadows. Throwing and modulating his voice. Letting the glow of his eyes and his smile linger a moment longer than the rest of him.

Jack had likened it unto the Cheshire Cat, and Pitch  _ had _ read 'Alice's Adventures Underground', but after catching sight of a successful attempt in a darkened mirror, a heavy certainty had settled at the core of Pitch.

_ "I'm a monster, aren't I, Jack?" _

Jack had looked so devestatingly sad. He'd put his staff aside, something that the young man almost never, ever did, and came forward to grasp both Pitch's hands. 

_ "Honestly, Pitch? Yeah. But you are  _ so much more  _ than that, too. I know what I'm talking about. I've seen it, and I've been there myself. For a long time I was alone. I thought I was just this worthless screw-up, that the only thing I was good at was making a mess and pissing off all the important people. For a long time, they thought so too. Then I got my chance to prove otherwise.  _

_ "I mean, I'm still  _ really _ good at making a mess, and pissing people off. Don't try to hide it, you think so, too. But I found out I can be more, do more, and that there are people who care. You've been alone a long time, Pitch, way longer than I ever was. And you're really good at creeping people out and scaring them off. But I think this is your chance to find out what more there is for you, too. _

_ "You probably think we keep you in the dark, just because we don't trust you, but honestly, that's only half true. You wouldn't trust us either. But I promise, Pitch, I  _ promise _ , we aren't trying to hurt you, or hold you back, or... Well, except Bunny, maybe, he holds a mean grudge. But the rest of us... Me, and North, and Sandy, and Tooth... we care. I swear we do." _

Jack's fear had been the most calming element for Pitch. It resonated in perfect accord with his words. Like North, Jack feared Pitch would sabotage himself, but caught up in it was a feeling far more personal than that of the old Cossack. Jack was afraid to lose the friend he'd made in Pitch.

It seemed odd that Jack wouldn't mind Pitch regaining his memories then. That seemed the surest way to realize  _ all _ their fears, if the hearts of the rest of his strange companions were any indication. Jack didn't seem to think the future he hoped for and the past that was had to be mutually exclusive though. Pitch wondered.

It wasn't long after that conversation that the memories began to return. They slipped in so subtly, not in any sort of rush or dramatic, traumatic flashbacks. Now and then Pitch would just recall something, a quiet thought that hadn't been there one moment, and then was, as though it had never been gone.

Pitch nearly laughed, the day he realized what had kept the memories back. Fear. His own damnable, cowardly fear. Down in that pit of darkness and despair, at the mercy of his own Nightmares, he'd relived his deepest fears again and again, so many times that they'd nearly come true. Pitch was so terrified of fading away entirely, of  _ never _ being seen again,  _ never _ being known, that he'd retreated into the depths of his own mind, just so he wouldn't have to see that doom realized.

The Nightmares had let him go after that. They couldn't get fear out of a spirit who'd given up all knowledge of what he might have to be afraid of. Useless to them, he'd been utterly abandoned.

And then, on a darkest night, without even the Moon looking down from the sky, someone had seen Pitch. Someone had known.

Once upon a time such a rescue at the hands of his adversaries might have been galling. Pitch might have very well bitten the kind hand offered to him clean off, just on principle. He no longer felt any such compulsion, but sorrow now replaced his fears, reflecting on how little trust the Guardians would likely grant him, now that he knew.

Who could ever trust the  _ Boogeyman _ ?

So Pitch kept his peace. He pretended to let the conversations with North and Jack close the matter, as though what they'd deigned to tell him was all Pitch cared to hear.

He finished his clockwork horse. He read (or rather now  _ reread _ ) old legends and mythology. He pranked the workshop with Jack. One year  he even helped organize a  _ massive _ snowball fight at the Pole, complete with snow forts for each of the Guardians which towered over two stories high. From his own position in Jack's fortress, Pitch catapulted the heads of snowmen over 'enemy' battlements, to which he'd applied frowns, X eyes, and liberal splashes of red food colouring. 

The reactions had been  _ marvelous _ , especially from Tooth, and the attention to detail had earned Pitch what he supposed was an appreciative thwack between the shoulder blades from Bunny. The squeamish grin seemed to convey goodwill, even if the blow had been a little heavy.

And best of all, now and then when Pitch was reading, he'd end up with a certain frost spirit squirmed into his lap. After particularly long, energetic runs of fun, Jack liked to wedge himself against Pitch's lanky frame, and make him read the stories aloud in what Jack described as 'Pitch's perfect story-time voice.'

They'd done just that last night, as Pitch had been reading through a series of simple, but horrifically illustrated scary stories meant for children. Pitch had a particular fondness for this set. Those inky images alone had been incredible nightmare fuel during the series' height of popularity, before they'd been reissued with much tamer illustrations.

Jack had been throwing off delectably chill waves of creeped-out fear during the reading, but afterward it had shifted into something else. It felt much like Jack's older fears, of screwing something up and being rejected by the Guardians, but he'd given Pitch those cryptic instructions.

_ "Meet me at the pond. ...wait for me, okay?" _

So Pitch stood in the shadow of the rock face that had witnessed the birth of a Guardian, and the fall of the Boogeyman, waiting on the vague whims of his one-time nemesis.

The Moon set well before Jack dropped out of the sky in front of Pitch. His white hair was even more windswept than usual and he seemed a little out of breath. A miniscule, irridescent feather clung to the edge of his hoodie.

"You're being awfully clandestine, Jack," Pitch spooked the frost spirit without even trying, supressing a smirk as Jack spun one-eighty to source the voice. That Jack  _ relaxed _ when he laid eyes on Pitch should have been insulting, but Pitch could no longer bring himself to mind.

"Yeah, it's not every day I break into the Tooth Palace uninvited, but I couldn't have my plans foiled by my flock of pint-sized fangirls," Jack shrugged helplessly, then reached into his sweatshirt pocket for a very familiar object.

Familiar, but strange. It was undeniably a tooth casket, but it looked wrong. The gold had tarnished, beyond the effect of mere antiquing. The irridescent inlays had darkened, too, black opal and a leaden mother of pearl. The reason for the corrosion became clear enough, when Jack held the thing out to Pitch. The portrait on the end was unmistakable, all angular features, ashen skin, and feirce yellow eyes.

"What... how...?" Pitch took the casket in hand with a confused and quiet awe. It was difficult not to behave as though he knew exactly what this was, so Pitch simply shut up and looked at Jack in askance.

"You know how Tooth collects kids' teeth? She keeps them in those things, so that when the kids need it, the fairies can use the memories inside to remind them what's important. A while ago, y'know, _before_... You lost a tooth, too. I had a devil of a time finding it, since it pretty much sunk to the bottom of this pond, and trust me, I've been avoiding diving in there for  _ centuries _ , but I figured this would be the best way," Jack scuffed his foot on the loose sediment.

"Best... how?" Pitch held it cautiously, as though it might explode if he touched it wrong. Jack looked halfway between sheepish and hangdog as he screwed up the courage to answer.

"Because now... Now it's not up to us, if and when you remember. Or at least, how your story's told to you. If you want to know you just... Just press the inlay, and your memories will come back to you. The most important ones, anyway. I had to do it once. It's scary, but it's... well, I thought you deserved the choice, anyhow."

Pitch looked down, staring at the tooth box. The sheer trust Jack showed in giving this to Pitch was almost overwhelming. He found his chest tight and his tongue thick. After a long moment he swallowed hard and shook his head a bit. "If I lost this tooth before, then... It can't possibly hold the most important memories."

How sacchrine sentimental was that? Pitch almost cringed inside to say it, but damn it all if it wasn't the truth, too. Still, Pitch tucked the casket away into shadow. It wouldn't do for the Guardians to get wind that it existed. He'd become terribly fond of them all, over time, but Pitch's memories were his alone to call upon or do away with. 

He'd have been angry with Jack's presumtion in even making the casket, save that Pitch knew there'd been no ill-will, no intent to create a weak spot. Jack wasn't nearly so cunning.

Jack looked positively floored by Pitch's answer. The young man threw himself across the small space between them, almost knocking the wind out of Pitch with the hug. Jack's relief spiraled up through a hundred different fears still left over from before this attempt. The judgement of all the Guardians if they discovered the theft and its purpose. The anger of the Boogeyman should memory return and Pitch resent their efforts. The danger to the children. The loneliness of driving off a friend.

All just echoes now, but lingering stubbornly, like the cobwebs of thought after waking from a bad dream.

Pitch soothed, one arm folding about Jack, the fingers of his other hand petting through the young man's snowy hair. "Shhh... It's alright. Thank you, Jack. You didn't have to do that, but thank you."

Of course there are consequences to everything, and the years of Pitch's absense from the larger scope of the world proved this in spades. The dark creatures that the Nightmare King had deigned too far beneath him to ever ally with eventually caught wind of the fully vacant throne, the neglected crown. 

At first they warred among themselves. The Great Goblin and the Wicked Witch seemed most keen on staking a claim to the mantle of Fear, and while the first had numbers, in his hobgoblins, gremlins, and handful of trolls, the second had dark magic on her side, and a tenuous alliance with the Evil Fairy as well. It was the third who counseled them both to see reason, and turn combined forces on the Guardians first, before they could exhaust their own resources.

No one told Pitch, of course, but then, they didn't need to. The Boogeyman was no longer the figure of greatest concern in the Guardian's minds, unless, like Jack, they feared Pitch would become a target. 

The Evil Fairy wasn't truly that concerning. She was a vain figure, more interested in being appreciated than anything else, and only their mutual egos had genuinely prevented Pitch from seeking an alliance with  _ her _ , once upon a time. The Great Goblin and the Wicked Witch, however... 

Their bid for power had a much more sinister, secondary aim. They were both known child-abductors, with a taste for flesh that, while often attributed to Pitch, he'd never once actually shared. His was the fear that inspired _survival_. The fear that kept children from wandering into the maw of wolves and witches. 

Right now the number of missing children every year remained low. Human authorities didn't even realize there was anything amiss, attributing the disappearances to other humans, or thought the children runaways. But if there was  _ no one _ left among spirits to keep these monsters in check...

Pitch tried not to be too anxious. These were amateurs, after all, fighting against the Guardians. If Pitch thought so highly of himself over these medieval monstrosities, then surely those who had defeated  _ him _ could handle  _ them _ . But they fought dirty. Many a Yeti was maimed and killed at the hands of the trolls, and Jack had nearly been hit by the sort of curse that would have demanded a real True Love's Kiss.

That had been the tipping point for Pitch, but as powerless as he'd grown, he knew he could not join the fight on his own. With the Full Moon riding high in the clear, night sky, Pitch sought out the Sandman.

When battle next joined between the Guardians and the Forces of Darkness, a most peculiar cavalry arrived.

The Nightmare King rode to war, but when he crashed down upon the field of combat, a battalion of Nightmares at his flank, they fell not upon the Guardians, but instead the goblin cohort. Spear and scythe he plied, not against his long time rivals, but the generals of evil.

"YOU DARE!" Pitch boomed out over the din of fighting, "YOU DARE PRESUME TO TAKE MY THRONE!? I AM THE  _ BOOGEYMAN _ ! I  _ AM _ FEAR!"

The crumpled bodies of the goblins lay like trash heaps in the aftermath, the few that fled to survive pursued by ravenous Nightmares. The Wicked Witch, Great Goblin, and Evil Fairy had abandoned the troops very early on, beset by both the wary Guardians and the adversary they'd not expected to return. They'd need all the putrid salves and healing arts their dark powers could manage, after the thrashing they'd been given.

Pitch looked out upon the carnage from astride his mount, weapons gone, and an ancient memory returned to him. One he'd forgotten  _ long _ before his battle against the Guardians, so many years before.

Why he was here. His own purpose upon the Earth.

A sense of shame, late in coming, crept through Pitch's core. He'd nearly let himself fall from grace, nearly sunk to the lows of the filth they'd just routed, all for vanity's sake. All for the loneliness to which his  _ raison d'etre _ condemned him. And of all the reminders on this fragile little world, it had been the Guardians who'd brought him back to his path.

Pitch turned to look at them as they gathered together, helping one another up, staring at him wide-eyed with awe and uncertainty. All save Sandy, who saluted Pitch as though he were worthy of the honor.

Moonlight gazed down upon all, perhaps the most meaningful of the watchful eyes upon him. Pitch looked up, no idea what to say to the others gathered around, but a clear, simple message for the guiding light above. "I am so sorry. And thank you, old friend."

He spurred his mount away, vanishing into shadow before any of the others could stop him. 

Several weeks later, Jack Frost finally tracked Pitch down. From the full-body tackle the young man used in greeting, Pitch suspected it had been a long, stymied effort. He'd been thoroughly berated for leaving the physical entrance to the Lair closed, and warned that Jack had nearly sicked toy-sack-bearing Yeti on the Boogeyman to drag him off through a magic portal.

Apparently, and miraculously, Sandy had managed to rat Pitch out. He'd spilled the proverbial beans to everyone on how long Pitch had actually been in possession of his memories, and how selfless his intentions in creating the new herd of Nightmares truly was. Pitch had a full-on open invitation to return to the Pole whenever he liked, and for however long, and was even now welcome to call on the Tooth Palace and the Warren. Jack also hinted strongly that Pitch could open up the clearing tunnel whenever it suited him (or perhaps  _ now _ ), back in the woods outside Burgess.

Pitch wasn't permitted to consider this an indignity or an embarrassment. It was clear now that  _ everyone _ had mistook Pitch's role in the world (including Pitch, once the Guardians showed up), and that apologies were due all around. The Guardians had not been introduced by the Man in the Moon to  _ replace _ Pitch. They were simply there to provide the counterpoint, to show the youth of the world what was worth living for. Yes, they'd been meant to knock the Boogeyman down a few pegs, he'd gotten quiet over ambitious in the Dark Ages after all, but they'd gotten carried away themselves, once Pitch began fighting back.

It was mutually, if begrudgingly agreed that misunderstandings had occurred with all parties. Jack, who'd spent three centuries not even knowing his own purpose due to a similar slip up, seemed the most eager to helm the efforts to mend bridges.

This did not make Pitch a Guardian, nor did he wish to be. They were complimentary forces in the world now, rather than being either one in the same, or adversarial in nature. Yet all were allied in the mission of preventing true harm. The Guardians no longer boasted their defeat of the Nightmare King, and the things in the darkness accorded Pitch his due respect. If they did not... what could one possibly call on for aid, when beset by both the Darkness and the Light?

Especially if they ganged up on you in a snowball fight.


End file.
